Sun's Watered Roots Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Sky and earth
meet and bow
to each other

at this spring
pool
swallowing waters
dripping

from the roots
of stretched-arm
raffia bushes,

pointing
their stretchy
and curved
umbrella arms
at each other,

all building
latticed windows
to pull in
sun's arm of rays,

each a cluster
of trees hugging
each other
with
the leafy fondles

of a fat center
trunk drilled deeply
into marsh

down tighter clay
firmer than
marbled floor.

(ii)

Earth stretching
hands
into earth,

in a tight
and zipped
edge of touch,

the beyond sky
on earth,
the sun an eye
hurled at eye,

the thin line
of a horizon
between

two winged
and shouldered
birdy icons,

sky and earth
upstairs
and downstairs,

this pool
bathing children
drinking from it,

water filtered
and sieved
by arrow arms
of sun

harboring gods
in gossamer
nests of light.

(iii)

O world
of gluing
rooted walls,

raffia roots
breathing
out and in
dripping water

for all under
sharp sunrays
filtered
and screened

by sky's eyes
shot
at a spring's
pool.

(iv)

Pulling bowed
emerald
and hunter
branches

to curve
their backs
and bow
as muscled guards

at a pool
drawing
in life to stand

taller
than the trees
shading it.